


Blinded

by zulu



Category: House M.D.
Genre: 08-09, M/M, MD, for:subluxate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-28
Updated: 2008-09-28
Packaged: 2017-10-02 01:18:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zulu/pseuds/zulu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You said I had to deal with you."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blinded

**Author's Note:**

  * For [subluxate](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=subluxate).



> Spoilers for "Not Cancer". For the prompt "Wilson goes to House for closure."

**Blinded**

House's heart stops the second he hears the key in the lock. There's no one else who opens his door with exactly that degree of determination and indecision. By the time Wilson swings the door open, House is standing on the other side, forearm leaning against the frame, filling the space and meeting Wilson's eyes challengingly.

Wilson meets his glare with one just as hard, his jaw working for a moment before he speaks. "You said..." He hesitates, looking over House's shoulder as if he expects that House has already replaced him and he'll find a single-serving friend sitting in his spot on the couch. "You said I needed to deal with you. To talk to you."

House licks his lips and swallows hard. There's no place to look that isn't Wilson's devastated face, and God he hates that he put that look there, even if it wasn't his goddamn fault. "Yeah," he says.

"I'm moving. Leaving."

House nods sharply, once. Wilson was true to his word, and he doesn't open the door to House any more. His emails and phone messages go unanswered. Lucas says Wilson's been packing, and every time he reports back, the question sticks in House's throat: _Where's he going? What's the address? What's the job?_ Lucas knows, but won't tell him unless he asks, and maybe somehow House is still Wilson's friend because he hasn't managed to find his voice and demand this last breach of privacy. "That's why you're here?"

"You're the one who wanted to talk, House."

That's not true, because House has never wanted to talk. He doesn't want to tell Wilson why he shouldn't leave, because it will only make Wilson run faster, and House is already too handicapped to keep up with him. He can't talk. Not to say this. Not to tell Wilson what matters. But the only thing that comes out of his mouth is, "No."

"No?" Wilson half-laughs incredulously. "You've had me stalked, your private investigator _bugged_ my _home_, and now you don't want to talk?"

"I--"

Wilson cuts him off. And that's a change, too. House knows he used to be the one who took charge of every conversation, but he remembers it like it's a dream. "I can't believe you. After everything--after all these years--I can't _believe_ you."

House clenches his fist around his cane handle. He wants _Wilson_ back. He'd settle for this Wilson--broken as he is--to stay. But more than anything he wants what he can't have, and the farther out of his reach it moves the harder he holds on. He pulls Wilson into the apartment and slams the door, as if he's going to let loose and yell, but instead he pushes Wilson back when he tries to step forward, and kisses him. It's short and sharp, but he sweeps Wilson's resistance away and makes sure he's paying attention before he backs off. "I don't want to talk," he says hoarsely.

Wilson's eyes are wide, but where there used to be innocence--where there should have been shock, uncertainty, desire--there's only a dark, furious need. "This isn't going to change anything, House."

House doesn't say _maybe it will_. He knows better than to hope for anything--except Wilson's not saying no. He's tilting his head back and House is kissing him again. Wilson should be angry. Should be thinking that House is nothing like Amber. Not young, curvy, limber. His stubble scrapes between them and his lips are dry, his chest is a hard plane under Wilson's palm. Not Amber. _Not someone you love_, House thinks. Maybe, at some point (House would give a hell of a lot to know what that point was), Wilson might have cared. But _they've never been friends_, so no, he can't think it's possible. He can't hope. He can only kiss Wilson because he's already said _You're an idiot_ and these are the only words he has left.

Wilson's hands are careful on the buttons of his shirt. He has House half-stripped before he realizes he needs to catch up. Wilson's hands are already on his belt when House breaks the kiss to deal with his tie and his dress shirt. He feels shaky and sloppy, and he wants to take his time, but Wilson's too efficient and takes over for him before he can. He shrugs back when House tries to grab him by his waistband and pull him into another kiss. "Bedroom," he says. "It'll be easier."

House follows him, limping heavily. He wants Wilson naked on his sheets. He wants him laughing and eager. But he'll take Wilson serious and angry. He'll take whatever Wilson wants to give, even if it's to fuck him as punishment.

Wilson kisses him again once they reach the bedroom. House hates how good it feels, how much he wants it. He pushes Wilson to the bed. He lies down beside him and bends his head to taste Wilson's throat, reaching for his cock. Wilson's not hard, but House palms him, and Wilson tenses like the feeling is something that he never expected. House is already erect, and he feels frantically pathetic. Wilson will see right through him, know how needy he is--_you eat needy_, he thinks. He is going to be consumed.

Wilson touches him, but House can feel the doctor behind every stroke and brush of fingertips. The careful lover, the apologetic husband. House never thought--never believed--that he'd lost Wilson to Amber. Not when they were dating, not when they were in love, not even when she died. If he gave Wilson _time_\--if he _waited_\--then Wilson would forget her the way he's forgotten every other woman. They fade for him into vague memories that he still manages to love somehow even as they stop being real for him. But if there's anything tender in Wilson's touches, then House knows it's only his hope creeping through every barrier he can throw in its path.

He's the one who shudders. His body betrays him--that's nothing new. He pushes his erection against Wilson's, and there's enough slickness between them that it's good, too fucking good. Wilson breathes quickly, twists closer. House won't ask how it feels, if he wants it faster, harder; _House_ wants it slow, wants to draw out the thrust and slip of their sweaty bodies, together.

House has imagined Wilson's face when he comes. He knows there should be softness at the corners of his eyes; he knows shape of Wilson's mouth when he gasps, the twist andconvulsion of his body. He's imagined _watching_ that, watching Wilson's eyes through every second of it. Now, he needs some way to hide. He strokes Wilson faster and kisses him hard, and even as Wilson's orgasm hits him it's like he's stealing House's breath from his lungs.

When Wilson strokes him, he doesn't kiss him. His hand is perfect. House hates it and loves it. A cry escapes him when Wilson pushes him over the edge, sends him flying--for once, the only time--without a net.

They should fall asleep afterward. They shouldn't have to talk. House squeezes his eyes shut and wonders why it's so hard to make his breathing even out into a sleeper's rhythm. And it's a moment or two before Wilson speaks--long enough to hope.

"That's what you wanted, isn't it?" Wilson sounds almost, impossibly, like himself, self-deprecating and dryly amused. But he's sitting up, reaching for his pants.

House wonders if his scar has migrated to his chest somehow. It feels like that. An aching depression where there used to be living tissue. "Yeah," he says. He doesn't even know if it's the lie it feels like. He studies Wilson's back, the way he rests his fists on the bed to hold himself up.

Wilson nods. He's half-dressed. He's moving away. He's already gone. "And that's all it was, House. Closure."

_end_


End file.
